Lia
The house feels empty when I get home, like the air’s been sucked out of every room. I drop my bag on the floor and fall back onto my bed, the frame straining under the sudden weight. The ceiling stares down at me, blank and indifferent. The kiss won’t fade, and it’s clinging to me like smoke. My skin tingles, a slow burn spreading from my lips like they’ve been branded. I press my knuckles against them, hard enough to bruise, as if I can crush the memory right out of my head. The sensation won’t leave.
What was that?
I force myself to sit up, my muscles wound tight like they’re bracing for something that’s already happened. My hands tremble in my lap, and I tangle my fingers together just to make them stay still. The energy trapped inside me has nowhere to go, tingling like static
