I've been lying in Jeremiah's arms for hours. He's fast asleep, his chest gently rising, then falling, in rhythm with my own. I'm too scared to move. He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping that I don't want to accidentally wake him. I lie as still as possible, tracing his features with my eyes.
It's dark outside, but fragments of the moon fall in through the window, dusting his nose and cheeks. It's the same way he'd looked when I'd straddled him at the party-soft and boyish and vulnerable: beautiful. His lips look so soft that I can't help it, I lean in slightly and close my eyes, pressing my lips on his.
I prop myself on one elbow, careful not to wake him, and watch him sleep. I suddenly feel different, as if I'm finally at peace. I'm not—my life right now is far from peaceful—but Jer
