She

My eyes stray toward the soft sleepy voice coming from the other side of the kitchen.  Her words are slurred together, cut off by a yawn that escapes her plush lips. My eyes travel to her figure, finding her adorably disheveled, shoulder-length hair a mess of tangled knots from sleep, fly-aways framing her round face.  Her freckles are speckles of constellations dusted with pink.  She seems so warm, so inviting.  Her smile as radiant as the rising sun. Her curves the horizon. Without thinking I grab my camera and snap a quick polaroid.  Her lips twist in displeasure before she rolls her eyes and approaches me. My breath stutters as she nears.  Her scent of lemongrass and sleep permeating my senses.  She hasn’t even had her tea yet and she still manages to soothe me with that heady smell. “Hm,” she hums, staring at the developing picture. It’s a rouse, I should have realized. But my eyes are glued to her.  To her lashes, to the mirth playing on her lips, to the mischievous glint. The camera is gone from my hands.  The flash momentarily blinding me, the surprise making my breath stop for just a moment.  Soon my image is spit from the camera, the dark canvas filling with color. The pictures aren’t that great, blurry at best.  But they amuse her.  And she grabs a sharpie, scribbling silly moustaches on our reflections before sticking them on the fridge.  The snort of amusement that escapes me makes her smile. And her smile makes me melt. But that smile soon falls and she places a hand on my shoulder before pulling me in.  I frown but let her embrace me regardless.  Her breath tickles my ear as she speaks. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she whispers. “Nothing’s wrong,” I respond, a lie I thought I had mastered. Something in my voice must have said otherwise because she pulls back, and her eyes are filled with disbelief.  I can’t bear to look at her.  I turn away and take a deep breath. “Breakfast?” I offer. “Hm, yeah,” she agrees. I make to open the fridge. Her hand wraps around my wrist. That pained look on her face makes my stomach churn with guilt. “I thought we were friends,” she mumbles. My face scrunches as I close my eyes.  I wish I could tell her.  I wish I could tell her how hopeless I feel.  I wish it weren’t so hard to admit that I’m struggling, that everything is closing in on me and I don’t know how… how I’ll pull through. I wish I could tell her how wrong everything is.  How complicated things have become. I don’t see the end of the tunnel.  There’s no light. Just her. But it’s because we’re friends that I can’t. I can’t tell her. How? How can I expose myself to her? How can I bear my soul and know there will only be more pain, more grief? How can she expect me to look in her eyes and tell her… tell her how much I love her? “I get it,” she mumbles, pulling back, “You’re not ready and it’s hard.” I nod numbly. “But I’ll always be here,” she smiles, “got it.” “Got it.” “Good,” she winks. She turns toward the direction of her room, no doubt with the intention to change and get ready for the day.  I watch the sway of her hips as she goes before focusing on the task at hand. Breakfast is served with minutes to spare. Apple juice and peach slices.  Scrambled eggs and tea, She hums in appreciation as she sucks on a slice of peach. And my lips part on a breathless gasp.  Her pink lips glistening with the sweet nectar from the fruit. Tempting me.  A moan of want crawls up my throat and dies on my lips.  How I want to taste. “Thanks, love!” She says before hugging me tightly and disappearing through the front door. I’m left reeling. The feel of her warmth making my heart ache, my stomach flutter with butterflies. I shake my head and stand from my seat.  I stretch until I hear my bones pop into place with a satisfying crack. I pad my way toward my room and slowly get undressed.  I avoid looking at the mirror as I stride toward the bathroom in all my glory.  I turn the water and sigh in relief when I find there’s still some warmth left. I scrub the sleep from my body and sigh. And I have to remind myself that it’s okay, that so long as I can admire her from afar it’ll be okay. All I ever want is her happiness even if it’s not with me. With that resolution I get out the shower and pat myself dry. I fish through my closet, settling on a white tee and a red plaid shirt I can throw over it.  I tug on some jeans and roll the cuffs at the bottom.  I stride back to the bathroom and only then do I look at my reflection. I look like s**t, feel like it too. Sleepless nights of thinking. Of wondering if maybe I’ll be able to overcome these feelings.  Eventually. I ruffle my wet hair, soon running my fingers through the short strands with product. And just like that I’m ready. I grab my keys and head for the car. I dread my destination, but I keep going anyway. My thoughts are filled of her and it makes it a little bit more bearable. But as I pull into an empty parking space reality begins to hit a little too soon. I reluctantly step out of the driver’s seat and approach the café. “Love!” She exclaims upon seeing me. I grimace as her arms wrap around me. “Mom,” I greet, pecking her cheek. She ushers me to a seat and we both pretend to occupy ourselves with the menu. She orders something or another.  I order a caramel latte, iced. The silence isn’t so bad. But she breaks it with her chatter. Her voice, which has only soothed me as a child, now makes me grimace. She’s loud and boisterous.  She’s everything I’m not. “So, is there someone special yet?” I hide a wince with a sip of my coffee before clearing my throat. “No, mom, you know I’m focusing on my career.” “Bullshit,” she says, “when are you going to move out?  I don’t like that friend of yours.” “You’ve known her since we were kids,” I protest. “Well you just seem more interested in her than actually trying to start a family.” “Mom-“ “What does she even do anyway?  I bet she doesn’t even pay for rent and shoulders everything on you.  She always seemed like a good-for-nothing b-” “Enough,” I growl in irritation. Her brows furrow in surprise. “Enough,” I repeat more gently. “Or what?” She demands with a quirked brow. I don’t respond, not immediately. My eyes flicker up to hers, a soft plea on my lips, “Please.” It seems that’s enough to make her realize the truth hidden in my heart as her widen. “Please tell me you’re joking,” she laughs humorlessly. I gulp.  How?  How can she see right through me?  Why?  Why couldn’t I hold my tongue? “You’re in love with her?” She sneers, “disgusting.” “Mom,” I call, voice breaking. “No!” She yells loudly, standing. The force topples over her chair.  Patrons surrounding us stare at the unfolding scene. “I won’t accept it!” My mother continues loudly, “It’s disgusting, unnatural!  It’s enough, I’ve tolerated enough!  I let you chop your hair, I let you get those hideous tattoos and that ridiculous piercing, but this is the last straw.  I won’t let you ruin your life!” Anger grips my heart. I stand as well, “You are ruining my life!” My breath comes to a stop as I cover my mouth in shock.  I hadn’t meant to say that, even if it is the truth. My mother’s face turns red in fury, her body visibly trembling with poorly concealed anger. “Don’t think of ever returning,” She says deathly calm, “You’re no longer welcomed to my home, you abomination.  You are not my child.” My core feels cold as I watch her leave. Tears sting my eyes; tears which I refuse to let fall. I right the chair my mother toppled and pay for my coffee and her food before ducking out of the little café. I head straight to my car and close the door.  Without thinking, numb and cold, I rev the engine and pull out of the parking spot. My destination unknown. Can I go home? Can I go back and face her? I’ve lost everything because of her. Because I love her. Because she must taste so sweet. The impact is sudden. I’m jerked forward and my head collides with the window.  A loud thud like thunder filling my ears. I groan as everything begins to darken. One last shuddering breath. One more. I want to see her one more time.