Sheer panic courses through the length of my body, from the top of my head as it nestles in the crook of his neck, to my bare leg that is wrapped around his. Sweat covers my skin, especially in the places where our bodies are connected. The room is filled with the echoes of our subsiding gasps and the unease that comes with knowing we’ve crossed a very hard line.
This was never supposed to happen.
My limbs are exhausted yet my heart is racing and a million different thoughts circle my brain.
His heart drums against my hand splayed across his chest. From the harsh and erratic beating, I can tell he feels it too; panic.
I remember the first time I saw him so many months ago. I wouldn’t have admitted it then, and it’s hard for me to admit even now, but something changed for me in that instant. The moment I felt him walk into the room I knew nothing would ever be the same, and it turns out I was right.
I wonder now if it was the same for him, and if it was, would he admit it?
There is only one way out of this and we both know it, but neither of us wants to make the first move, afraid and uncertain of how the other will react.
We never should have let it go this far.
His strong body shifts uncomfortably under mine, adding to the awkward air surrounding us.
I picture what we both must look like, laying here, our bodies tense and entwined. I imagine that this is a movie and that a camera pans out to reveal our naked bodies that, for all intents and purposes, should be relaxed after what we just finished, and may even appear relaxed at first. But zoom in and you’d see how rigid our arms and legs are, draped across each others in a stiff and awkward way.
If he’s not going to do anything about this, then I will. With every ounce of strength and self control I have left, I focus on one word and one word only: