Rileys Pond

Is it lust?


    . . .  I closed out the space between us, ignoring my dad's threats of death and wrapped Taylor in my arms. Her body eased from rigid to liquid in my embrace and when the tears came, the weight of her grief dragged us both to the floor.

I leaned against the foot of her bed, cradling her while she purged the pain and soaked my shirt with tears. Her hair smelled of fruity shampoo, the texture silky against my cheek. A hot tear trailed across the bridge of my nose, followed by another…then another, until I couldn't tell whose body shook worse, hers or mine.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I muttered over and over. "I should have believed you."

Her warm fingers held my cheek and I kissed her palm.

"You're right. You should have loved me enough to believe me. I can't forgive you for that, yet. You hurt me."

"I know," I cried. "I hate myself. It's my fault."

Or love?

. . . "I've missed your smell --the way it filled my hair and clothes after being with you." I curled onto his chest, his heartbeat fast against my cheek. "I love you, Riley," I whispered. "Say you'll take me back?"

"I never did let you go."

. . . His expression held an innocence that made him appear vulnerable. I traced the outline of his mouth, moist…warm. Gently, I fit mine against it, testing. Our lips locked and the world disappeared, taking all the bad memories.

. . . I melted into the angles of his body, swept up in scent of his cologne, the familiar taste of the cinnamon he sprinkled in his coffee still on his tongue.  All things "Riley."

. . . or a dangerous combination of both?

          . . . a place where worlds collide, sparks fly, and a kiss "goodbye" means anything but.