I shouldn't have done it. God, I wanted to—every part of me was aching for him, for that closeness, that heat—but now that the sun's gone down and reality isn't wrapped in his arms anymore, all I feel is this dull, gnawing guilt in my chest.
My body still smells like him, even after a hot bath. I sink deeper into my bed, glaring at my closed room door, as I hear his footsteps on the other side.
I remember the way he smiled before I left his room. I know he didn't regret a single second of it. That quiet, contented smile.
It just made my own regret twist tighter. I tug my covers tighter around me, like that might squeeze the regret out of my bones, like it might rewind the day to just before I let myself get carried away.
Because that’s what happened. I got carried away.
I love him.
