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It starts around my junior year of high school. I’m thrown into an unfamiliar environment, unwillingly and without any warning. I’m deeply afraid of what’s to come. My claws are sharp but dull enough that when I grip my rough skin, it doesn’t break. Every day I dread waking up, brushing my teeth, and putting on clothes just to sit in a classroom with people who all hate themselves as much as I do. There are a few standouts from the rest. I will and can admit, I’ve made friends here. Good people who truly do care about me. I feel the same about them.
Kris isn’t an exception to this truth. I met them during my fifth chemistry class of the semester. I skipped over six classes, and I was forced against my own will back into the humid classroom. Kris was my lab partner. They were quiet, much like how they are now. The first thing I noticed about them was their hair. For our experiment, we had to use the bun-son burner. Without any hesitation, they pulled their hair into a ponytail. Their hair was thick and curly. Some stray pieces fell from the scrunchie, their brown curls kissing their caramel skin.
I had never seen another human before, let alone, a human like Kris. During our first sleepover, we shared a bed. It was uncomfortable at first. The idea of sleepovers were completely alien to me. I had never had a friend long enough to get to the stage of laying within the same proximity of one another. Their hair splayed out against the pillow. Bonnet discarded from their rough tossing and turning. Eventually, they settled into the crook of my neck. Their warm breath tickling my scales. It was a new feeling that I introduced too. I felt warm, uncomfortably so.
Their curls were soft to the touch. Multiple times I had fantasized about this very moment. My large hands shook over their figure. I gulped and their head moved with my swallow. They whine and cuddle closer to me. I can feel their curls swallow my fingers. They don’t tangle. They tickle the pads of my fingertips with each movement.
At one point I find myself wishing the roles were reversed. My face buried in their bare shoulder. I wanted to feel their warmth against me, more than I had ever before. Their hands would wrap around my head. Their touch has always been gentle. But I am not. My hair is far too coarse for this endeavor. It makes my stomachache, so I sleep.
When I’m awake, I feel a slick coldness on my neck. A string of drool is connected to their cheek when they shift away from me. They laugh at my disgusted face, offering me a chance to pay back.
“Okay lick my hand.” They hold out their hand. I grimace.
On Monday, we got caught in a storm. It was the first time during the entire semester we had decided to study for an upcoming exam. Both me and Kris struggled endlessly in this class, the thought of a failing grade scared both of us. I remember how Kris’ jaw dropped at the weather. They frantically took out their phone, signing with the other.
It wasn’t supposed to rain.
I shrug. I take their hand in mine and make a beeline towards their neighborhood. We trip a couple times on the way there. Kris loses their footing completely and falls into a huge puddle. I hold back my laughter when I see how angry they look.
Ms. Toriel immediately ushered us into the bathroom with fluffy towels and clean clothes. The clothes she gave me were from Kris’ older brother. I hadn’t met him yet, but I’ve heard stories. Kris seemed to miss him. Every time someone brings him up, they have this sad look on their face. And not the silly pout they pull when they’re trying to convince me of something. So as their friend, I tried not to bring him up. I don’t tease them about it either, it wouldn’t be right.
We both turned our backs to each other, changing in an awkward silence.
“Decent?” I ask. They mumble a small yes and we both turn at the same time.
The first thing I noticed is how curly their hair is. Their usual loose pattern is replaced by something tighter. Their hair no longer stops at their back, but drips down their ears and towards the collar of their shirt. It’s almost as if their hair has shrunk.
Kris ushered me out of the bathroom for staring at them too long. While I waited for them to finish their business, Ms. Toriel placed a piece of warm pie and tea at the table. She looked at me with her kind, brown eyes. Her smile squeezed at my heart. I politely nibbled on the flakey pastry. She giggled.
“You can have more if you’d like.” She pulls a chair in next to me.
“Thank you.” I feel my eyes well up with tears. I don’t cry.
Ms. Toriel pets my hair softly with her paw. She uses her dull claws to push hair out of my face. I can feel her work out the knots of my hair with her fingers. Her touch is gentle; it reminds me of someone else. She talks to me about her day. Going on about the children she teaches at our elementary school. I’m not really listening. It’s nothing personal; I just found myself someplace else. At the same time, her touch is grounding. I know this is real, because I can feel her presence, and it’s warm.
“Kris hated when I touched their hair as a kid.” She trails off.
“In their defense, I had no idea how to take care of it. Goat hair is soft, but finer. Most of the human books I’ve read tackled the difference in hair texture.
Of course, they forget to include children like Kris into their books.” Toriel sounds angry.
It scares me a little, but I know she isn’t trying to hurt me, so I let it go. I face her and her smile is still soft. All my anxieties melt away.
“Kids like Kris?” I ask.
Kris pads their way towards our distant conversation. Their hair is frizzy and big. Much bigger than it was before in the rain. I had realized she wasn’t talking about how they weren’t a monster. Apparently, there was something else that set them apart from other humans as well. She never told me, so I never found out.
…
I celebrated a couple of weeks ago with my friends; Kris was there too. They always are. Late at night, the day before my birthday, they texted me.
Do you like chocolate cake
They don’t use any punctuation. It feels more like a statement than a question being asked. I feel interrogated.
Hell yeah
Okay.
The next day I wake up to a loud knock. It shoots me out of my bed, and I instantly search for my Swiss Army knife. My phone is being blown up as I throw around covers and boxes for my item.
I open the door and Kris laughs at my bed head. They run their thin fingers through my hair. Pulling at knots as they go. They have this soft smile on their face that tugs at my heart in all the right places. My eyes are glued to their lips and a pathetic part of me wishes I could pull them in by their waist. My grip strong against their body and my other cheek. They nervously brush a strand of hair out of their face.
That’s when I notice the cake they’re balancing on their hip. I feel like an asshole for making them stand in the doorway for so long. They sign with one hand and a soft smile that it’s okay. Kris shoves their way past me and towards my kitchenette. Placing the small cake on the counter. They start rummaging through my drawers. Searching high and low for a fork and plate.
I feel nauseous looking at them now. The scene is oddly domestic. They’ve memorized the outline of my kitchen, so that finding what they needed wasn’t exceedingly difficult.
They carefully cut a large slice out of me. Placing it in front of my mouth. I look up at them; they’re already looking at me. They look a bit anxious. Their cheeks are flushed an adorable red that makes me want to flip this table over. Nervously they open their mouth. It closes, then opens again. They opt for using their hands to communicate but stop midway through the sentence.
“Happy birthday, Susie.” It comes out in a scratchy voice. It’s soft, not smooth. It’s quiet and with each word they become a little less shy. I watch their lips closely as they continue to talk. They go on about how they’ve been planning this for weeks. The perfect gift for the perfect girl, as they’d put it.
I never considered myself a drinker. At parties, I feel like I narrowly avoid the glass bottles calling my name. I’ve had a few mishaps in my college years where alcohol has embarrassed me beyond belief. Kris was always there to see the worst of it. Despite the teasing nature of our friendship, they never made fun of me. I was a sad drunk, I cried a lot. More than I probably had in a while. And each time, I always found myself tucked into their lap. Their hands softly petting my head. It soothed a deep wound in me that I didn’t know needed to be healed.
Kris was always more talkative while drunk. During the day, they didn’t speak much. They decided that sign language was their preferred method of speaking. Me and everyone else in the friend group took some personal lessons. It took a while to get the hang of it, but they were patient.
When they spoke, it was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They had a slight slur to their voice. It was loud and they’d laugh at their own jokes. When they were drunk, it was as if all their insecurities about their voice just slipped away. I could tell they were plastered when they started mumbling incoherencies.
“Hi…” they started. “Why are you so far. Let me be there.” They yawn and their eyes water.
“I wanna be there….”
They were in my bed, wearing my shorts and tee shirt, swaddled in my blankets. I opted to sleep on the floor; I couldn’t handle the proximity. They leaned their head over the edge of my bed. Looking at me with their red eyes, wide and huge. They sloppily rolled off of my bed and fell onto the carpet with a loud thud.
“Shit.” I immediately sat up.
They crawled their way into my makeshift mattress. Forehead bumping into my shoulder like a needy cat. They make themself at home in my blankets.
I accept defeat and lay down next to them. I pull the blanket up and over both of our shoulders, packing us in like a can of sardines. As I start to settle down to sleep, they speak. A little quieter this time.
“I’m sorry I got too dunk…drunk.” A bit of drool pools out from their lips. They wipe their mouth on my pillowcase. Gross.
“I just get so happy. When I’m with you. I get excited. Sometime. Sometimes I overdo it. M’ sorry. I’m having fun with you and I like it. I don’t want it to be over….
…but I’m so sleepy.” They yawn.
My stomach hurts and my heart expands. It takes up the rest of my chest, blocking my airways. I harshly swallow. I’ve felt this before. I feel it when I touch their hair. When they let me pet their scalp and they let out an inhuman purr into my grasp. I feel it when their hair is wet and they try to dry it on me. Ultimately ruining my shirt in the end.
I feel it when they speak. The rarest moments of my life are when I’m able to hear their voice. Right now, is one of those moments, and I let them speak.
“Did I tell you about this guy at the bar?
He wanted my number, I told him no and he kept pestering me. I lied and said you were my girlfriend and pointed to you across the room he got scared…
I really liked that song they played. The one that goes; hmm mmm hmm. You know? You don’t know hehe...
I think I drank too much, sorry. I already said sorry. Sorry for apologizing.
I’m sorry.
You’re on the floor, I’m here now. What if I just slept here.”
They cut their own voice off with a loud snore.
Kris used to play piano. They told me this as they glared at the hospital piano. It was spring break and kris decided it was time to go home, so that their mother would stop pestering them. She called just about every day, just to check on them or tell them how much she loved them.
When Kris wasn’t paying attention, I’d listen to their conversations.
“Yeah, mom I’m eating.” A beat of silence followed by a groan.
You look so skinny in those pictures you send of you and Susie. I’m just worried. Oh! How is Susie? Is she doing alright? Is she your roommate? I can’t remember…
“I’m fine. I’m eating. Susie lives in another dorm. I just sleep over…a lot.”
Hm. She takes a deep sigh.
You two have been so close since high school. I’m glad she’s stuck with you even through those terrible teen years you had! Haha! Susie is such a nice girl.
My heart swells at her words. Kris laughs nervously.
“Uh yeah. She is. She’s pretty awesome. I’m glad she’s here with me too. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I stopped listening after that.
We were visiting a friend of a friend, Rudy. He wasn’t my friend. He actually wasn’t Kris’s friend more like a weird uncle. I shouldn’t talk about him like that though, he seems to mean a lot to Kris.
Rudy is kind, I can see why Kris likes him. I was a bit hesitant to tag along their visit at the hospital. I don’t like being in hospitals, it just freaks me out. I can’t remember why, it just does. Somehow, it makes it a little less scary. He asks me for my name and makes a joke that I’ve heard Toriel say to me in passing. He asks about my parents, school, and my hobbies. It feels nice for another adult to care about me the way Toriel does. I stare him down while he’s talking to Kris. I am dissecting every part of him, searching for something to be afraid of. There’s nothing.
Rudy slaps his knee and laughs at his own jokes. He’s a bit annoying but I smile and nod when he addresses me.
“So, you’re Kris’ girlfriend?” He smiles crookedly. Another cough escapes as he laughs at my flustered silence.
Before I could even respond Kris frantically moves their hands. I watch their hands move and I catch a curse word or two slip out. Their nose is flushed red and cheeks splotchy with embarrassment. They slunk their shoulders when he laughs at their panic, telling them to chill out. He whispers something in their ear and they grimace. He turns to me with a cheeky smile. I smile back. I feel so awkward.
“Kris told you they could play piano?” He asks. I nodded.
“Y-yeah. Yes.” I correct myself halfway through my sentence. He laughs again.
“Did they also tell you they could sing?”
He says it like it’s a secret. His mouth is leaned into my ear; he almost whispers his words. He covers his mouth with his hand so Kris can’t see what he’s saying.
Kris lets out a loud groan. A sound I’ve never heard them make, at least not that loud. They make a show of saying goodbye, flipping him off at the end of their sentence. Again, Rudy laughs, but then he coughs. And it reminds me why we were even here in the first place.
The walk back is silent. I slow my own breathing down to hear the rhythmic pattern of Kris breathing in and out beside me. His words keep ringing in my head “did they tell you they could sing?” My mind starts to drift, and I wonder what Kris would sound like. What they’d look like behind a microphone with their mouth open. Singing a slow jazz song, or something more at my pace, like rock.
I’m sure they’d sound beautiful. They’d deny my compliments and fluster. I’d do anything to hear them sing.
As if they’d read my mind; they tug on my jacket. My attention is now on them, I look down at them and they’re already looking at me.
“I will…try and sing.” They don’t look at me when they speak. “For you.” They add on.
…
Having a crush makes me feel like a creep. I’ve had small fleeting feelings in the past for others; it’s never been anything like this. I find myself noticing small things about Kris that no normal person would ever realize, unless they were staring at them for multiple minutes at a time. Which is something I find myself doing. A lot. They’ve taken up so much of my mind space that I can’t help but see them in everything.
It was summer and we had just finished our second year in college. Kris was eager to start summer early, so after our last exams, we went straight to the lake. We stumbled upon the spot on a late-night walk where we were high beyond belief. Kris albeit, a little higher up than me. They carved our initials into the tree, so they’d remember the spot.
We forgot about it until about two months later.
The air was humid. The heat stuck to my skin like a glove. I felt myself growing uncomfortably hot just looking at Kris’ long sleeve shirt. They started to roll up their sleeves but shoved the fabric back down when I glanced over. We made it to the lake, and I immediately strip down into my swimsuit underneath my clothes. A simple sports bra and trunks have never let me down. I look at Kris; they’re hugging their waist uncomfortably.
I realize this will be the first time I’ve seen them without their sweater, or at least a long sleeve shirt. I naively assumed they were just a little shy about taking it off in front of me.
“Uh man, if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t gotta swim. We can just- “
“No.” They cut me off. They sound angry. Not with me but with themself.
They seem hesitant to take off their shirt. I try not to watch them, but I am curious. At the corner of my eye, they face away from me and pull off their shirt. From what I can see, they’re in a tank top. Their swim shorts are about the same length as mine. I watch them adjust their hair and turn back to me. They smirk.
“Creep.” They mumble under their breath.
I can feel my face burn and kris laughs at my pink cheeks.
While we swim, I try not to notice it. There are clean cut horizontal lines on their arms. Littered from their wrists all the way up towards the crease of the inside of their elbow. On their left wrist, there’s a particularly deep and huge scar. It cuts vertically across their skin. I count three more deeper cuts on their thighs; I only catch a glimpse due to the length of their trunks.
On their neck I count two moles. They lift their arms up to splash water at me. I count one more mole on their lower stomach. When they turn around to wipe the lake water out of their face, I spot a birthmark on their back. Kris smiles and I notice they have a few crooked teeth. One small canine that pokes out when they bite their lips. The skin on their lips itself is cracked and dry, most likely from the weather.
Their calves are sparsely covered in mahogany brown hair. Some of the hair covers up more scars littered on their shins.
I try not to feel sick. We have our fun and eventually Kris complains about being cold. I think they notice my mood, because as we’re walking back, they tug on my shoulder to grab my attention.
They sign with one hand; you, ok?
I’m not okay. I smile and I nod back. They aren’t convinced and I don’t really care enough to try and push my act. But they let it go anyway.
When I was thirteen, I think I had an eating disorder. I say think because I’m not sure of what I did was enough to say I was bulimic. I didn’t have the resources to get a proper answer. My father didn’t care about me; I don’t remember him ever scheduling me for a doctor’s appointment. I just remember eating, then throwing it back up. Each morning for about a year and a half, I binged then threw it all back up.
I’m not even sure if my intention was to lose weight. I did lose some and it made me feel good. For once in my life, I was in control of something. It was more about control for me. If my father could hit me, my mother would hate me, and if I hadn’t had any friends, I needed something in my life that was entirely mine. Sometimes, I didn’t feel that my body was mine at all.
I could feel myself digging a deeper hole, one I wouldn’t be able to crawl myself out of. And now, I see it in them.
I don’t like to discuss others’ weight. It’s a sensitive topic for me and the person being gossiped about. That’s another thing, it feels like gossip. But I can’t help but ask someone else if I’m insane for what I see.
“Does Kris eat around you?” I ask Noelle. She pauses her reading and looks at me sideways.
“Weird question.” She trails off, “I mean, yes? I’ve seen them eat. It’s not a lot. Oh, jeez now you’ve gotten me worried. Is Kris not eating?”
She turns to me with her wide brown eyes; I have the urge to tell her the truth. That no, Kris isn’t eating, at least not enough. And when they do eat enough, somehow, they’re smaller the next day. I imagine Noelle sobbing into my shoulder and I instantly quash that idea.
I lie.
“Yeah yeah. Sorry just, maybe they just had a bad week. Sometimes I don’t eat enough during a bad week.”
I leave it at that with her, but not with them.
Later that night, I stayed over Kris’s dorm. Their roommate is out with their boyfriend and decided to leave for the weekend. When I knock, she’s the one who answers the door. I smile awkwardly as she leans in for an even more awkward side hug.
“Kris is in the bathroom! They’ve been there for a while now. But I’m not worried they do this a lot!”
Her voice shakes, I can tell she actually is a bit worried. I don’t press it though. She says goodbyes and leaves me alone in the kitchenette.
I’m alone in the living room for what feels like forever. I checked my phone; it’s been fifteen minutes since she’s left. Fifteen minutes more that Kris had been in the bathroom. My palms start to sweat; my brain goes to the worst-case scenario. I remember the scars I’ve seen on their wrists and legs in passing. My face goes cold.
I practically trip over my pants to get to the bathroom door. I hear a wet gag and a sob.
“Hey Kris. Hey.” I try to stay calm as I talk to them through the door. They let out another cry, and I heard liquid splash into the toilet.
I turned the doorknob, it’s already unlocked. I find Kris hunched over the toilet. Their knuckles have gone white from gripping the toilet seat. I crouch down next to them and hold their hair from behind; they gasp softly into the toilet bowl. They gag again and I realize that only one hand is holding them self-up. The other is lodged into their mouth.
For a moment I watched them do it again. They take their hand and shove it down their throat, triggering their gag reflexes. They throw up some more; the rest is dry heaving.
“Kris.”
I try to think of something comforting to say. What would Toriel say? What would Noelle do? Would Rudy even find himself in this position? I felt like such an awful friend for not noticing before. I shoved that thought deep down into my throat. My hands work quicker than my mind. I don’t remember much other than holding them. Their hands behind their back as they kicked and screamed at me.
They yelled at me until their voice was raw. Not once did they actually try to hurt me. They didn’t say anything hurtful or mean about me, just about themselves.
After a while, they calmed down. They were now slumped in my arms, head resting on my shoulder.
“Hey.” I start. They hum in response.
“I used to do it too. Um, it’s not good for you to do that. I mean I think you know.”
I find myself stuttering after each word. I’m not sure how to approach this topic. It’s something I’ve tried to forget myself.
“I just want you to be okay.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Kris pulled me aside one day to tell me they’ve started gaining the weight they’ve lost back. They told me a year later when I found them in the bathroom.
I could tell they weren’t lying. Their arms started to fill out a little more along with their stomach. Their bones were less prominent on their skin, tucked away safely with in them. I knew it was hard for them because it was hard for me too. When I was younger, I wished I had a friend to hold me back from my destructive behaviors.
Now I have Kris, and that’s good enough.
For the hundredth time, I feel like a creep. I’ve been observing them closely. I notice any minor change that has taken place. Their hair is a bit thicker now, it’s longer and reaches their shoulders. The scars on their arms are much more faded now. I’ve watched their face fill out from the weight gain. It suits them well.
Lately, they’ve caught me in the act. I sneak glances at them whenever I can. While we’re watching a movie, or if we’re out with friends. My eyes always see to find them, and now they’re finding me.
Late at night, we’re both squished into their twin bed. they’ve been staring at me for a while; I can feel their eyes picking me apart. I can’t help but do the same.
Their eyes are red framed by short lashes. They have deep eye bags that have recently lessened over the past few months. They have thick eyebrows, the ones that the models in my old magazines had. My eyes travel down to their nose. It’s wide and flat. Their nostrils are slightly flared, adorned with a septum ring right in the middle.
I want to stare at them forever. I want to peel back the layers of their skin and feel their heart. Their lips curve into a small smile. They look so soft, so pretty.
I want to kiss them, but I don’t.
…
Most monsters I know don’t have lips. I mean we do but it’s vastly different from the ones you’ll see on television. Growing up, I watch a lot of human romance movies. I was friends with the librarian in my old town. She was a nice older lady. A human. Every time I’d come in, she recommends me a new movie to watch. And since I didn’t have a tv of my own, she let me use the one in the break room. Sometimes I’d stay for hours just watching those stupid, cheesy hallmark movies.
(The guy wants the girl, but oh wait…they’re actually exes and now she’s married! But they’re still in love!?)
I hated kissing scenes. They were overdone and drawn out for an uncomfortable amount of time. That being said, it’s even worse when someone else is watching it with you.
The woman smiles up at her partner. He grabs her in by the waist and passionately kisses her. Their lips press together in an odd way. Her top lip folds into his mouth while he kisses back, using way too much tongue. The sounds they’re making are egregious. There’s a moment when they break apart, and somehow their next kiss is even worse than the last. I find myself wondering if this is genuinely how kissing is supposed to be.
I look towards Kris. They’re making an odd face. Their bangs are pushed out of their eyes, so I can see their eyes clearly. They seem enamored all the while being disgusted at the scene. My eyes drift down to their lips then back to the movie.
I really want to kiss them. As I’m watching the movie I imagine I’m the one holding Kris. I’m the guy, because why not? kris is the woman, or maybe they’d be the guy. Either way, I want to pull them in the way he did to her. I want my hand to cup their face as I look into their eyes. Romantic music would play in the background while we stand on the bridge in some random ass city. But it wouldn’t matter because it would just be me and Kris. And id kiss them, obviously.
It wouldn’t be as gross as the kisses in the movies. No, it wouldn’t be anything like that. So, scratch all of that. I’d look at them, just like how I’m doing now. They look at me too.
“What?” They’d ask.
And I’d just go for it. My hand in their hair, pulling them in. Our noses bump before I kiss them deeply. Id kiss them like I’m never going to see them again. I don’t do any of those things.
Their lips are chapped and bitten. Sometimes, I watch their sharp canine worry on their bottom lip. It bleeds, leaving a small dot of blood inbetween their dry skin. I wouldn’t know, but their lips look soft. Silky smooth, and when left alone there is a lack of cuts and bites in their skin. Their top lip is pink. The bottom one is brown. When kris wears lip gloss or chapstick their natural lip color peeks through its glittery shield. other times, mostly on special occasions, they wear lipstick. It’s a hypnotic motion. They uncap the tube, twisting up the product to an approiate length. It coats their lip in one swipe. They press their lips together, effectively blending it together.
They mostly stick to darker shades such as maroon or a deep purple. It leaves a print on anything their lips come in contact with. Their straw, a finger, maybe a cheek.
Im getting too ahead of myself.
The first time we kissed was on new year’s.
It’s stupid and it sounds cliche to say out loud, but that’s how it went. We were all crowded into our friend’s college dorm, squished together on the pull-out sofa. I was tipsy, but not drunk. I had one drink and that was my limit for the night. So, I know it wasn’t the alcohol that influenced me that night.
We started the countdown and I felt their shoulder press into mine. I looked down at them; they smiled in a way I hadn’t seen before. They pushed my bangs out of my face and I closed my eyes. It turns twelve and they kiss me. Just a small kiss on the cheek.
It’s not much, but it meant the world to me. I wished my eyes were open, I wish they could do it again. They vaguely of smelled cinnamon and honey. Their lips pulled away with a soft smack, leaving a small kiss print on my cheek. I ask them to do it again; I can feel my heart drop into my belly. Without hesitation they plant another kiss on my opposite cheek. They laugh at my goofy smile and the dark lipstain left behind on my cheek.
Second kiss (approximately 3 months later)
The weather has started to change. As the new year came and went, it became a bore to talk about New Year’s resolutions. I remember the first day the sun peeked out of its hiding spot since December. I was walking back from the store, bundled in a sweater and heavy coat. I could feel its warmth kiss the exposed area of my neck that my sweater couldn’t reach.
I’m sure Kris could feel it too. As soon as spring started, they opted to wear short sleeve tops and loose jeans. It was hard for me not to stare at their scars. I felt bad. Mostly because I knew it wasn’t right for me to be so fixated on them. I’m not sure why I was so drawn to them, maybe a part of me was still worried that it would get bad again.
Sometimes, Kris would let me hold their hand. The contact was usually brief. It was more practical if anything. Id help them down from a ledge, my hand held tightly in theirs as they stepped down.
“I feel like a princess.” They mumbled under their breath.
Over the years, I’ve become more gentle. I hold their hand with care. I wouldn’t want to hurt them. Their skin is soft and squishy; I can feel their palm press into mine. occasionally, my thumb grazes their wrist, thumbing over their healed scars.
In one of the early days of spring, we sat in the campus park basking in the sun. Their skin had absorbed the warmth from the sun, making them sleepy. Our backs are propped against the rough bark of an oak tree. I watch a leaf flutter down and land right on Kris’s head.
When they aren’t paying attention, I take their hand in mine. They watch as I bring their palm up to my maw. Before I continue, I try to peek a glance and gauge their reaction. Their eyes were wide, but they aren’t moving away. I take that as a sign to continue.
I kiss their palm with the thin lips that I have. I make my way up towards their wrist, hesitating before I kiss a scar on their arm. I kiss all their scars leading up towards the middle of their arm. Their pulse is quick under neath my touch. I allow my kiss to linger, their arm slightly shakes in my grasp. I didn’t look at them as I pulled away. I was too embarrassed to look them in the eye.
Third times a charm.
It started with these looks. These desperate almost love sick looks they’d give me. I noticed it when we kissed on new years, and then the week after that when we kissed in between classes. Both fleeting and never lasting. I saw it again when I kissed their scars clean. It happened again only two days later. I found myself in the position I was in months ago. Sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed up against theirs and a romantic movie playing in the background. This time, I kissed them.
My hand in their hair, pulling them in. Our noses bump before I kiss them deeply. I kiss them like I’m never going to see them again.
It’s not as fleeting as the other ones were. It was so much more. It wasn’t magical. I didn’t find them in an abandoned parking lot in the rain. Covered in water from the sky’s showers, their face pained and pointed directly at me. They didn’t run into my arms begging for my arms to be wrapped around them. I didn’t push their wet curly hair out of their face. They didn’t cry, and we certainly did not kiss in the rain.
It was more like this:
Susie was twenty-five now, almost twenty-six. And she still found herself watching the same movies from her adolescence. Kris is curled up next to her. They wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Their cheek is pressed into her shoulder. They can feel her smooth skin through her shirt, they want more.
She feels her stomach flutter at their touch. She wants more.
At the same time, they turn towards each other. The movie is now over, the credits roll in the background. Theres only three inches of space keeping their noses apart. She feels their breath on her maw. She wants to scream. Their lips are bare. there is no lipstick covering the brown and pink skin. But they look so soft, and she finds herself imagining.
What if I just..
“you like the movie?” she asks instead. Theres now five inches of space between their faces. “yeah.” Their words wobble as they tumble out of their mouth. She watches their lips as they move. She isn’t listening. Theres now two inches of space between them.
“I’ve seen it a million times. The movie I mean, its really cheesy but so good. I don’t know why I like it so much. I guess its just because I’ve seen it so many times.
sorry I already said that. I’ve just seen it so much that ive memorized the words. I even remember all of the actors in the credits. I love this movie. Did you know theyre making a sequel? Not sure if this is even your thing.
we should see it sometime-.”
“Susie.”
Their voice is soft. It’s never been like this before. They look at me, it’s that same look. I feel their lips press against mine. My lips move against theirs. They let out a soft sound and melt into my touch. My hand is in their hair. Their dark curly hair, and it wraps itself around my claws. My other hand rests on their waist, making itself home on their back. I thumb the space between their tee shirt and the exposed skin on their side. They lean into me more and I’m pushed back against the arm rest of our couch.
I’m finally where I want to be.